


love is...

by pelita



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Time Skip, this is just a comfort food projection to osaaka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelita/pseuds/pelita
Summary: Keiji glances at the dining table, where two plates are already served alongside the set of metal utensils. The sight of the delicious-looking fried rice gives rise to Keiji’s awareness of his previously ignored hunger. He sees that it’s served with fried eggs cooked on both sides—just the way he likes it best.He takes a seat on his usual side of the dining table. “Fried rice?”“Yes,” Osamu says, his back is facing Keiji as he fills two glasses of water on the sink. “Or to be more accurate,nasi goreng.”Keiji is stressed, and Osamu uses food to cheer him up.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	love is...

**Author's Note:**

> hello there !!! please read before continuing !!! 
> 
> this fic is basically just a self-projection of my comfort food to osaaka. so yes, please be mindful that there will be lots and lots of descriptions food. 
> 
> anyways happy reading, i hope u'll enjoy !!! <3

Two hours.

Akaashi Keiji has been staring at the same document for _two consecutive hours_. The fluorescent screen is shining brightly in this poorly lit room, and with that, he thinks that he’s starting to understand why lights are falling further and further away from his retina. He can dwell on it a little longer but now is already too late to worry about his near-sightedness.

 _Now_ , all that he needs to do is finish up this blog post he has been trusted to write. It’s a promotional article for the first volume release of Udai-san’s on-going manga. So far, he has managed to scrape up two paragraphs from his overworked mind. Two hours, and only two paragraphs—it’s not his best performance. At times like this, he just _wishes_ for some kind of catalyst that possesses the ability to speed up the gears inside his brain. 

Both his head and eyes feel heavy. If he closes them and relaxes his muscles just a little, he can fall asleep on this desk almost immediately. If it’s not for his devotion to restrain himself from getting a caffeine addiction, he would have already downed two cups of coffee beforehand.

Keiji stares at his copy of the manga sitting on his desk. As one of the people that helped in designing the cover, he feels a good sense of pride when he looks at it. It’s an illustration of a dark-haired boy soaring above a volleyball court in perfect spiking form. _It’s beautiful_ , and it’s something that becomes so dear to him. Streams of his high school days, back when he was still playing as a setter, keep rushing to him each time he steals a glance at the picture.

Beautiful spiking forms like that always reminds him of his dearest friend—the ace of his former team, Bokuto Koutarou. To think that now he’s currently playing for one of the best V. League Division 1 team, Keiji has never felt more proud. His friends are truly amazing, so many of them have gone professional to play for their respective teams. Sometimes, he feels like he has to keep up; he wants to make them proud like how he’s proud of everyone.

That’s why he must work hard, even if it requires a million headaches and him breaking his poor back. He raises his hands for a few slaps on his two cheeks, and then he pinches them to battle the sleepiness seeping under his skin. 

_Focus_. Keiji takes a deep breath to let the oxygen circulate through his body, and most importantly through his brain. _Words_ , he just needs to get some words out and type it into the digital paper in front of him. It should be an easy task. He has done this many times before. _Way too many times._

But neither his mind nor body seems to be cooperating with his wishes. He drifts closer and closer to dreamland, and it’s all beyond his control. Suddenly, the words on the screen start blurring out, leaving nothing but a blinding white. The room slowly grows darker and darker. Then right when he’s about to let his head fall onto the desk to give in to slumber, the sound of the door opening jolts him awake.

“Keiji?”

Keiji pushes his almost-falling spectacles deeper into his nose bridge and looks up in the direction of the door. Miya Osamu is standing there, still wearing an apron fresh from cooking one of his delicious meals. There’s something about him—something about his presence that twinkles like crystals under the sun. Something about his everything that ameliorates lusterless places into vibrant wonders.

Osamu strides closer to him, stepping deep into the safety of their bedroom. He walks until Keiji feels long fingers threading gently into his messy hair. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch to revel in the comfort.

“Tired?” The melodic voice of his lover sings closer to Keiji’s ears; he has never learned to love anything more.

“Mmm, yeah,” Keiji murmurs, letting go of all the restraints on his smile.

“Too bad,” Osamu says, “ya gotta get up. Dinner’s ready, ya must be hungry from all that workin’, aren’t ya?”

Osamu grabs a hold of both Keiji’s hands and pulls him up from his leather desk chair. Keiji lets Osamu guide him outside the bedroom and into the simply-furnished kitchen. Immediately, he is engulfed in the aroma of Osamu’s home-cooked meals—a reminder of what it truly feels like to be home.

Keiji glances at the dining table, where two plates are already served alongside the set of metal utensils. The sight of the delicious-looking fried rice gives rise to Keiji’s awareness of his previously ignored hunger. He sees that it’s served with fried eggs cooked on both sides—just the way he likes it best.

He takes a seat on his usual side of the dining table. “Fried rice?”

“Yes,” Osamu says, his back is facing Keiji as he fills two glasses of water on the sink. “Or to be more accurate, _nasi goreng._ ” 

“Na…si…” The name sounds familiar but Keiji is still too tired to process anything properly. “What’s that?”

“ _Nasi goreng,_ it’s fried rice but Indonesian.” Osamu places the glasses of water on the table and takes a seat across Keiji.

 _Ah, it’s Indonesian again._ Keiji thinks it’s endearing how Osamu has so much love for food and cuisine. There isn’t a single week that passes by without him trying completely new recipes of cuisines from different parts of the planet earth. The amount of care he puts on each and every one of those dishes, it’s one of the reasons why Keiji learns to love him like no other.

“ _Itadakimasu_ ,” Keiji says before taking in the first spoonful of the rice.

His mouth is immediately filled with the flavorful savory taste. It's well cooked and seasoned, just like any dish that's whipped up by Osamu. It tastes _new_ , a good kind of new—the kind which its foreignness deserves to be upgraded to familiar. There's a hint of spiciness, a sharp strike of flavor he doesn't recall ever tasting before. _Or does he?_ It’s hard to tell.

The most important thing is that _he loves it_.

"Mmm, so good. What did you put in this?" He mumbles, still having bits of food inside his mouth.

Osamu takes a spoonful of his serving as well. "Hmm wait"—he pauses for a moment to chew and swallow—"I put in some shallots, garlic, salt, pepper, some coriander powder, just the usual seasonin' y'know. Then I added a little bit of sweet soy sauce and _sambal_ for that authentic Indonesian taste."

Keiji stares intently at his lover. There’s a slight self-satisfied expression on his face which supports his current growing suspicion. 

"No, there's something else. Isn't there, Osamu? The heat, the sharp spicy taste, it comes from somewhere."

"That's just the sambal."

"Sambal…" Keiji mumbles, pausing from eating to let himself think for a few moments. 

_Sambal_ is the chili paste Osamu has been frequently using in a variety of his experimental dishes. It _is_ spicy, but Keiji can still sense that there's a different taste to the rice that's beyond just chili paste. 

"No, it's not just that. Come on, Osamu. Don't lie to me."

Keiji sees the muse in Osamu's face before he breaks out into small laughter. "Alright, alright, Keiji. Ya got me there. There's another secret ingredient."

Keiji leans forward and rests his chin on two hands. "I'm listening."

“Remember that _rendang_ dish I made for ya yesterday? I used some of its leftover curries to add more flavor. A lot of Indonesians do that apparently, from what I know.”

“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?”

Osamu leans back against his chair. “Yeah. Ya got a great tongue, Keiji. If it were ‘Tsumu, he’d just believe everything I say ‘bout the ingredients I put in.”

“Well, I just love paying good attention to everything. Especially if it involves something… or _someone_ I really love.” The last part rolls out of his tongue so naturally.

Osamu smiles, and if the world were to end right at this moment, Keiji thinks he won’t be paying any attention to the catastrophe at all. He loves Osamu, and he loves how he emits light instead of reflecting them—how he drives away shadows to protect all his grace. Keiji doesn’t care about what the rest of the world thinks; to him, there is simply no one else like Miya Osamu.

“And that’s what I love ‘bout ya.”

There’s a few seconds of silence and stares—a quite beautiful one, favorable to Keiji’s fate. Then the lips of the two subjects start curling, breaking out into a wider and wider grin until the room becomes filled with careless laughter.

“Now ’s the moment of truth. What does it taste like, Keiji?” Osamu asks once they have calmed down.

They have this tradition they do whenever Osamu tries out a new recipe. The tradition includes Keiji having to taste the dish and take his time to think of a word to describe it. The only rule is that there can only be one word, and it doesn’t have to be something related to food. It can just be _anything_ that comes to his mind.

For this one, Keiji knows just the exact word say.

“ _Love_ … It tastes like love.”

**Author's Note:**

> hi thank you for making it until the end !!!
> 
> yes this was very self-indulgent, i know. by the way if you don't know, rendang is a spicy meat dish that's very popular in Indonesia and sambal, as i mentioned in the fic, is a chili paste that's used for a lot of things. you should look it up !!! for a more firm understanding hehe <3
> 
> anyways feel free to leave your thoughts below. and if you want to find me on twitter i am right here -->[@atsukiyoo](https://twitter.com/atsukiyoo)


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